


A Space for Ourselves

by memoriesintherain



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Deaf Character, First Crush, First Kiss, M/M, Mention of Abuse and PTSD, Sign Language, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoriesintherain/pseuds/memoriesintherain
Summary: On an afternoon like any other, where young Wallace Arcangelo and his body guard Nicolas Brown spend most of their days caught up in fictional worlds, a simple word in one of those books prevents the pair from their usual proceedings, and that word is "kiss".
Relationships: Worick Arcangelo/Nicolas Brown
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

As sunlight peered its way into the dimly lit room and around the several towering shelves packed to the brim with books, a young boy with shaggy dirty blonde hair and bright eyes tapped a finger lightly on the table in front of him. His eyes were glued to a book, one that had not yet left his hands since he picked it up that morning. Whenever a book had found itself in his grasp, it would not find its way back onto its spot on the shelf until the last page had been turned.

The young yet well dressed boy who donned a freshly pressed white dress shirt and black tie along with pleated gray plaid pants sat quite properly in his chair, back straight, neck firm with only his forearms leaning against the table, and his one hand flipped through the pages of his book. His focus on the words in front of him were next to none. Not a single sound of the day had the power to steal his eyes away. Not the whispers of wait staff wandering the halls, nor the grumbles of security forces who stood outside by the fence that surrounded the estate. He was quite at peace with the silence of his reading space. It allowed him to slip away from the humming murmurs of rumors and gossip. It kept him out of sight of fits of rage from the man who called himself the boy’s father. The young boy quite liked it there in the quiet, barely lit room he called a library.

Across from this well mannered, properly dressed young man, was another boy who looked just about his age. However, he seemed to be anything but well mannered or properly dressed especially to be sitting in such a well kept room in a wondrous yet slightly excessive estate. It could be said that this other boy seemed a little out of place. His jet black hair was unkempt with pieces of his locks sticking out one way or another and often poking him in the eye. His clothes unlike his blonde and tie wearing counterpart appeared more basic. A black t-shirt hung across his shoulders, looking as if it were just a bit too large for his slender frame. The pants that covered his legs were not nicely kept gray dress pants but instead a dark yet faded fern green pair of cargo pants. His more rugged appearance was only highlighted even more by his awkward way of sitting in a chair as if the soft seat cushion was uncomfortable or even foreign to him. He leaned forward with his shoulders hunched over and his elbows digging into the table as he clasped a book in hands.

As much as his appearance countered that of the blonde boy across the table, this boy clad in a baggy t-shirt and cargo pants found the same peaceful security in the library as the latter did. This room which was warmed by soft sunlight, seeping through large windows, was far away from anything that had previously taunted him. There were no adults who barked orders or threw slurs and fists his way. There was just him, the warm sunlight, the books on the shelves, and the boy in front of him. None of which would ever bother the sheltered tranquility which lay so strongly in the air of the room. There the two boys were able to rest, be at peace, and be themselves.

The boy with a tie gently wrapped around his neck looked up from the words in front of him to peer at the boy across the table. A small smile had slowly started to stretch itself across his face. It had seemed just yesterday where he had taught the other boy how to read and write. He fondly remembered the long laughs which had escaped his stomach and lips as he checked the other boy’s sloppy handwriting and backwards letters. He was also quite proud that his name was one of the first words the other boy learned to properly spell, only second to the other boy’s own name. The letters which spelled out “Wallace Arcangelo” and “Nicolas Brown” had appeared a bit awkward and arguably even a bit sad that day, but as the days of writing practice continued the letters more and more jumped to life and began to fit perfectly beside each other just as the two boys did themselves.

By now rarely any situation separated the two of them. Nicolas with his dark hair and thin eyes was only ever taken away from Wallace when it came time for tactical training, and Wallace with his blonde hair and round blue eyes was only ever distanced from Nicolas when he had to attend classes. Other than those few hours in the day, the two were alway together be it outside under a tree, feeling the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze on their skin, or in their book sanctuary, filling their heads with magnificent ideas and wonderful worlds far different and better than the ones that they found themselves in.

The smile on Wallace’s face stayed as he turned his attention to his book, keen on finishing the last several chapters before dinner. Unbeknownst to him, finishing the book would be a bit more difficult than he thought for just as he settled his eyes on the next paragraph, the boy across from him sprang out of his chair and raced towards the shelves, leaving the book which had been in his hands to thud against the table and the chair from which he sprang to wobble in his absence. Wallace furrowed his brows as he witnessed Nicolas disappear among the many shelves.

“I’ve got to teach him some manners,” he whispered to himself as the sound of the other boy rummaging through distant bookcases became louder. Supposedly Nicolas was increasing the passion of his frantic search, the longer it took him to find what he was looking for. However, the sound soon stopped just as abruptly as it had started. Wallace then in a few seconds saw Nicolas casually trotting back with two more books in his hand.

They were books which Wallace recognized in an instant. Nicolas often had them by him while he read in case he did not understand something. Placing the books down on the table, the unruly black haired boy once more sat down in the chair he had so feverishly abandoned. With the books now placed on the table, their titles could be easily read: The Merriam-Webster Dictionary and Basic Sign Language.

Wallace patiently watched from his seat as the other boy flicked through the pages of the dictionary, sliding his finger down a page and a half until stopping at a particular word before opening the second book and searching for the word he had just found. Wallace observed Nicolas pause as he scanned both of the pages. He could tell that the other boy was struggling to understand the meaning of the word at hand as he kept his eyes trained on the two books for a few minutes. However from where Wallace was sitting, he had no idea what the word even was. 

Wallace’s curiosity of what the word that was stumping his friend could be, only grew stronger when he saw the latter slowly move his one hand up to his face, taking his index finger along with his middle finger and placing them together on his lips and then placing them on his cheek. Nicolas seemed to do the sign a few more times without looking up. Only when Wallace’s fist began to tap the table just in front of the book did Nicolas tear his eyes away from the word, the definition, and its sign.

Nicolas’ small eyes blinked at Wallace who slowly moved his hands and fingers to phrase the question, “Is everything okay?”

Nicolas blinked once more before answering Wallace’s question: “I’m confused by a word”. His hands moved to illustrate the signs that conveyed the sentence’s meaning. He then pointed down at the book and then continued to make the sign he previously made, taking only his index and middle fingers of one hand, placing them on his lips and then on his cheek.

Wallace strained his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what the sign meant in the books in front of the black haired boy, but he could not see the pages properly. He leaned back into his chair as if to get more comfortable before asking, “What does it mean?”, but this time the words came out from his mouth and not from his hands.

Nicolas, who was used to reading lips since not many people seemed to know sign language, easily understood what Wallace had asked and proceeded to spell out the word that had preoccupied his mind for the last several minutes. Nic brought one hand up and began to move his fingers. The first sign looked like a peace sign except with a thumb firmly situated in between the index and middle finger. The next was a closed fist except for the pinky finger which stood out straight. And the last two was just one sign that was repeated. It was a close fist with the thumb wrapped around the outside.

Nicolas waited for Wallace to say something. He knew Wallace understood sign language. The other boy was the one who taught it to him in the first place so it should not take long for him to pick up what Nicolas had just signed. However, it seemed to Nicolas that Wallace was stuck on the word just as he himself was. This idea comforted him a bit as it seemed that he was not alone in his confusion, but the thing that Nicolas failed to understand was why Wallace lagged in his response.

Wallace had seen Nicolas’ hand movements. He had understood the letters that the other boy’s hand spelled out, and yet he was still slow to respond. His eyes traced his own hands and then the face of the boy who was so patiently awaiting to see what he said. Wallace himself did not know why he was hesitating, and yet it felt like something within him was slowly growing. Perhaps it was a small sense of embarrassment to have to explain such a word. Or perhaps it was something else. It seemed he could not easily put a name to it, or maybe he did not have the courage to acknowledge this feeling’s proper name.

The blonde haired boy stared at Nicholas and repeated both signs back to him: first the one where the two fingers touched his lips and then his cheek and then the one which properly spelt the word out. As he signed, Nicholas watched carefully, focusing strongly on everything Wallace did, taking every movement in just as he normally did when Wallace was teaching him something new. 

Wallace then followed his signs by saying the word out loud: “kiss”.

Nicolas tried to copy the mouth movement of the word as he repeated it and the signs back to himself. After doing so a few times, he turned back to Wallace whose eyes were still on him. Nic noticed the normally pale boy’s cheeks seemed to be more rosy than usual, but did not think much of it. He was only focused on understanding the word. Looking over at Wallace, Nicolas asked, “What does it mean?” His hands were moving once again to express his question.

Wallace replied with his own hands asking, “What does the book say?”

The boy with short, scattered black locks flipped the dictionary up to show Wallace the page where the word was. Tracing down the page with his eyes, Wallace scanned all of the k-lettered words before reaching “kiss”. The definition read: “to touch with the lips especially as a mark of affection or greeting”.

To Wallace, the definition seemed more or less straight forward, which caused him to wonder why Nicolas would be struggling with something so basic to him. "People did it all the time. How could he not know?" Wallace began to question to himself, almost criticizing Nicolas’s naivety. "It’s almost like he’s never seen . . ." It then soon hit him that it was quite likely that Nicolas had never seen two people even being affectionate before. From what he could gather, Nicolas’ family was not much different from Wallace’s himself; his mother was out of the picture, and his father barely paid attention to him, and if he did, he would have rather he had not in the first place since nothing good ever came from being around his father. In that type of ‘family’, if anyone could even call it that, affection seemed to be nonexistent as if the idea of familial love was a far off mysterious and unattainable promise.

While considering all the possibilities that Nicolas could have experienced or rather lack thereof, Wallace felt a tightening in his chest. He could relate to such feelings and thoughts that welled up in the body and mind when finding yourself among a distanced family and domineering father. Those feelings and thoughts were much of the reason, he often found himself inside the library, engulfed in a book instead of wandering the estate halls or grounds. He desperately wanted to be away from everything that made him feel trapped within a life and society that he had no desire to even be in in the first place. And after all the time that he and Nicolas spent together, Wallace figured or at least hoped that the other boy felt the same way too. He hoped that Nicolas found solace sitting beside him in the library day in and day out. He hoped that Nicolas enjoyed the quiet room, the many books, the warm yet soft sunlight, but most of all he hoped that Nicolas enjoyed being with him. 

Wallace looked back at the boy who was so carefully holding up the dictionary for him to read. The polite and quiet little book holder sat patiently awaiting for his friend and usual teacher of all things languages and words to speak. If anything were to make its way out of Wallace’s lips or be conveyed by his hands, Nicolas would immediately grab a hold of it and eat it up. He was always the most avid of learners, going into every situation that brought on confusion with the utmost sense of curiosity. And that trait especially held true now. Nicolas sat there with three different books sprawled out in front of him, with eyes gazing eagerly at the boy not too far from his grasp, the boy who had all the answers to his seemingly limitless questions. Nicolas simply sat waiting, needing a solution to his confusion and curiosity.

Having sat in silence for possibly a little too long, Wallace finally mustered up a response. “So you still don’t know what it is?” he asked aloud.

Nicolas having read his lips, shook his head. He then waited a little longer to see if Wallace would start back up with his response, but once it seemed that the blonde boy was going to remain silent, he continued his questioning. With his hands he expressed the phrase: “Can you show me?”

The tightening in Wallace’s chest which had started when he was thinking of his friend’s situation sympathetically had immediately stopped. In fact, everything in his body had stopped. It was as if he froze. He tried to write it off mentally as shock, but from the tingling sensation in his stomach, any other person would argue it was nervous excitement.

Wallace then felt his leg begin to shake in anticipation and the fingers of his one hand begin to tap on the table nervously. He was not entirely sure why his body was reacting this way, and he especially was not sure why his body was beginning to heat up. He could not remember any other time that he had felt like this. It was all a little new and confusing.

When he looked at Nicolas, he saw the same questioning yet calm and patient expression that he had seen moments before. The query of what that word meant still hung in his mind. He seemed very determined to know so there probably was not any avoiding it. Once Nicolas zeroed in on something, there was no way he was letting it go. Wallace fidgeted in his seat slowly growing more and more aware that he would have to do something to quell the other boy’s thirst for knowledge.

Not to mention, Nicolas’ request for the word to be shown was not anything out of the ordinary. With as much time as the recently literate boy spent reading, he would often come across words he was not familiar with, causing him to look them up and then ask Wallace if he was still confused. These inquiries into the meanings of words were so frequent that Wallace had even come to wait for them as nice little breaks in between hours of reading. However, the previous requests for word explanations had always been easy enough to manage. In other instances he would only have to say a certain word is a synonym for a different word or sometimes even draw what the word was, and Nicolas would simply nod and continue reading. All of the earlier questions of words, therefore, were all really easy to handle. This question, however, was giving Wallace trouble since the only way to show the word would be to actually kiss his friend. 

And his little brain could barely take it. To Wallace, it seemed like he was shy to share his first kiss with someone of his same gender and his friend nonetheless, but there was something that Wallace seemed to be overlooking as a reason for his shyness. And this alternative reasoning was that it was the idea of kissing his friend that excited him. He had never thought about Nicolas in that way. Nicolas was just his student, bodyguard, and friend. There had never seemed to be any room for young silly crushes, not that Wallace had ever tried to look for the room for such a thing. They simply had always just been there for each other. In a way they were all each other had in a world of cold familial relationships. Nicolas simply had always been there. "And Nicolas will always be here", Wallace would often quietly think to himself.

As the fluttering sensation seemed to make its way up his stomach and into his throat, Wallace tried to swallow it down. He felt Nicolas’ strong yet soft gaze still on him. He knew the other boy wanted an answer. He had been waiting for so long for one. The other boy had simply made an innocent request in order to understand the word that was halting his reading and captivating his mind. And Wallace knew an answer would have to be given if they were to return back to their peaceful reading.

He slowly began to stand up, pushing himself out of his chair with his hands firmly pressed on the table. He then little by little made his way over to Nicolas. The other boy’s eyes still steadily followed his every movement. Wallace noticed the closer he got that a little glimmer of eagerness began to fill Nicolas’ gaze. He knew his eyes showed a similar sentiment but he also knew that both their eager excitement were for different reasons. Nicolas merely wanted to understand the word, but Wallace seemed to be wanting to understand something a little at odds yet still not too far from the word itself. Wallace wanted to understand why the thought of kissing Nicolas excited him so. He wanted to understand his feelings.

In a few more steps, Wallace stood directly in front of Nicolas who was now excitedly staring up at him. He had since dropped his hands from the book, and they now sat on his legs which curled under the chair he was sitting in. Wallace, deciding that thinking any more would only drag things out longer than they already were, allowed himself to move without any more doubts. His hand came up to Nicolas’ face which soon donned an even stronger questioning expression with his eyebrows being pulled together in a confused response to the hand that now rested warmly on his cheek.

“I’ll show you,” Wallace finally said out loud, and it was all Nicolas could do to read the blonde boy’s lips before they softly pressed against his own. The seated boy’s furrowed brows shot up in surprise, exchanging his curious expression with one that was vaguely similar to that of satisfaction. This was a new feeling for him. Wallace’s lips felt warm as they pushed against his own. He blinked a few times, getting himself used to the sensation before pressing his own against the boy standing above him. 

At the feeling of Nicolas’ lips now against his, Wallace jumped back quickly, pulling himself away from Nic. His hand which had been on Nicolas’ face speedily went to his own, covering his mouth. In his chest, he could feel the quickening pace of his heart beat and the increased speed of his breathing. Not being able to get a word out now that his nervous excitement was running throughout his body, he brought his other hand up to sign: “That was a kiss”. After his statement, his eyes scanned the other boy in front of him, searching for any sign that he was similarly affected. All he saw, however, was a small smile, expressing the black haired boy’s contentment with now knowing what the word meant.

Wallace laughed a little at himself. "Of course nothing would show", he scoffed mentally. "Nicolas was never one to show much emotion in the first place", he told himself, feeling a little annoyed that he had gone and gotten his hopes up that Nicolas would be feeling just as shy yet excited as he was. Being the only one feeling that way made the well-dressed young boy feel ridiculous.

He turned to go back to his chair when a small yet firm hand grabbed his wrist. The hand seemed to not want him to leave. His eyes stared blankly at the hand before moving up the owner’s arm and over to his face. Wallace’s heart stopped once more for a second as his eyes were met with another smile on his friend’s face, but since he had looked away, it now appeared different. Could it be that it was brighter? Wider? More genuine? Whatever it was, he couldn’t be sure if the smile was thanking him for showing him what a kiss meant or if the smile was a reflection of how the kiss made him feel. Regardless of what it meant, the smile from the short black haired boy’s face seemed to wash away the ridiculous feeling that had just recently welled up inside of Wallace. The blonde boy couldn’t help but smile in response, even shaking his head slightly at the thought that Nicolas looked oddly adorable yet awkward with the rare little smile on his face.

Then Wallace felt a strong tug on his arm. Feeling himself getting pulled towards Nicolas who once more had his eyes closed and lips partly puckered, Wallace panicked. A hand quickly came up and pushed Nicolas’ face away. 

"What was with that?" Wallace asked himself in a frantic state. "He couldn’t have wanted to . . ." His mind went blank, looking around the room for something to calm himself down with. Anything other than Nicolas would do the trick. Nicolas would only make his head spin even more. 

After straightening himself out and distancing himself from Nicolas, he noticed the other boy now wore a small pout. "Was he really going to kiss me again?" Wallace’s eyes widened and his heart bounced restlessly once more. 

As Wallace sat back down in his chair which by then had seemed like it had been abandoned ages ago, he was finally able to look back over at Nicolas. The boy across the table had almost disappeared into a puddle of black hair and clothing. His arms were crossed in front of his body on the table and his head was rested on top of them as if posing in a way that expressed defeat or exhaustion. Wallace couldn’t be sure what Nicolas was thinking. He practically never could, but one thing he was sure of was that the other boy’s eyes were trained on him. They had been the whole time since the kiss. Wallace couldn’t shake them off. They seemed to be burning into his skin with an intense intent to do something, but again Wallace was not exactly sure what. Nicolas was often a wild card. Anything the other boy thought would forever be a mystery to Wallace, but that mystery was also something that Wallace looked forward to understanding as the hope that Nicolas would always be by his side still floated around his mind.

Not long after the kiss, Wallace’s emotions began to die down and he was able to focus on his book once more. Periodically he would look up to see Nic was still watching him. He would just shrug it off and continue with his reading. He figured if the boy wanted something, he would actually get his attention rather than just staring.

Time seemed to pass in an instant. By the late afternoon, Wallace was nearing the end of his book, and Nicolas had for quite a bit been sound asleep at the other end of the table. The library was once again at peace, having aired out all the shy yet panicked tension from earlier. With a few pages away from the completion of Wallace’s book, a knock came from the other side of the entrance to the library. A soft feminine voice sounded off through the wood door, “Young master Wallace? I’m sorry to disturb you, but Commander Brown is requesting Nicolas for training.”

The voice’s footsteps could be heard leaving down the hallway as soon as it had finished its duty of requesting Nicolas. Wallace looked over at the dozing body of Nicolas in front of him. The boy seemed so fragile and yet everyday he trained in combat. Making someone like him work so hard seemed wrong to Wallace. In fact, part of him wanted to protect Nicolas. He wanted to keep him in that peaceful room where no one could reach him or order him around. He wanted Nicolas to stay there quietly with himself by his side. 

But he knew Nicolas had to go soon or there would be a lot of trouble to follow. Wallace then put his book down for a second, reaching across the table to poke at and shake the small framed boy. Nicolas awoke slowly, wiping the sleep away from his thin eyes. 

He didn’t need Wallace to tell him why he was woken up. He knew. He could tell by how low the sun sat on the horizon. Nicolas shifted in his seat, moving to get up. Before he left the table, he closed all his books and piled them one on top of each other, even remembering to push in his chair. He knew Wallace liked when things were organized. He always seemed to want to do things that Wallace liked. When he did, Wallace would often smile, and even if he didn’t understand why, he liked when the other boy smiled at him. Not many people ever smiled at him, but he knew that Wallace’s smile was special even if he hadn’t seen many. He therefore liked to see it whenever he could and so he always tried to act properly just like Wallace himself in case that earned him a wide grin from the well dressed boy who always seemed to be within arm's length.

Nicolas was making ready to leave, grabbing his sword which had leaned against the table this whole time, but then an idea hit him before he got too far away from the table and Wallace. In an instant, he turned around and marched back the way he came. 

As the other neared him, Wallace didn’t even look up since he was once again entranced in his book. With his eyes glued to the page in front of him and his mind held up in the world that the words created, he barely even realized what was happening when from the corner of his eye, he saw the shaggy hair of Nicolas inches away from his face. And when it was already too late, he felt it. Nicolas had leaned over to press a kiss right against his cheek. It was quick yet sweet. 

Wallace’s entire body froze. All he could do was manage to turn his head and look at the kiss thief that he had unknowingly created. A small smile once again sat on the other boy’s face. Noticing Wallace’s eyes were on him, Nicolas bowed and said in his best yet grumbled little voice: “Thank you, Master Wallace. Goodbye.” And with that he left the room as well as Wallace behind.

Once the door was shut and the room was empty. Wallace threw his book across the table, finally letting out some pent up emotion. His now empty hands came up to his cheek which was now fully flushed after the pleasant assault of Nic’s lips. He sat there in silence for a while, endlessly running what just happened through his head. 

Wallace’s head soon softly met the table as his brain almost seemed to melt. “What ever did I just teach him?” He whispered to himself. 

His hands ran through his hair, still trying to come to terms with his thoughts and feelings. After a little bit, a thought popped into his mind. He tried to quickly push it away, but it had already taken residence in his head if he liked it or not: "Not that I would mind if he did it more."

For the rest of the afternoon, the young Wallace Arcangelo sat quietly in the library awaiting Nicolas’ return as he always did, but this time, his heart seemed to beat just a bit louder than usual.


	2. The Thundering in our Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a young Wallace Arcangelo and Nicolas Brown come to terms with their feelings and their place in the world, a passing storm offers them a few hours of torment and emotional growth.

The only thing that seemed to periodically disrupt the serenity that hung in the air of the Arcangelo mansion library as far off worlds unfolded in the hands of the two oppositely sitting preteens was the grandiose grandfather clock which had recently made its way into the heavily shelved room. The drumming of its ticks had been something the two boys needed a few days to adjust to. However, since its sudden arrival almost a week back, the faintly audible knocks of time passing had faded into the background like everything else had as the two lost themselves in their books. Not that one of the pair would have even noticed. Nicolas whose ears always held the sounds of the world around him just out of reach had not even noticed a new clock was placed into the room until he almost ran right into it. 

Having finished his book, he wandered among the shelves looking for the next story that would feel at home in his hands. Taking a quick turn to the left after reaching the end of shelves and moving away from the windows toward what he remembered was a bare wall, he found himself barely even measuring half the size of the enormous time keeper made of wood. The grandfather clock towered over him just as he had known adults in his life to do, looming feet above his head and almost appearing to lean over him in all his short stature.

Nicolas blinked up at the tall mix of mechanics and wood. He had never seen one before. Clocks had been rare to come by before he arrived at the mansion, and he had never seen one as grand and well-crafted as the one that stood before him now. Standing impressed yet slightly confused as to how it worked, he added the clock to the list of things that he figured were only something that someone could find in this beautiful monster of a house. At almost every turn, there was something more magnificent than the last, and he never dared touch any of it in fear of what might become him if anything he even looked at simply wobbled out of place, meeting the floor with a spectacular crash. He had gotten punished for much less and was not willing to risk it. The risk of reaching out to something precious in the house that was far from being his was only worth it if it reached out to him first. He knew it wasn’t his place to act for himself in such a space. None of it was his. It never was, and it never would be. 

That thought in his mind like an insomniac bat, fluttering from side to side, never letting him rest, always causing him to be on guard. If he were to be the cause of some ruckus, he would never forgive himself. “I must not trouble Master Wallace anymore than he already is.” Nicolas would tell himself in order to keep himself in his self defined place.

The black winged thought only seemed to steal moments of slumber when Nicolas was sat across from the blonde haired, fair skinned, elegantly dressed and well kept Wallace who he worried to ever bother. With the two of them being allowed to lounge comfortably in the library, surrounded by nothing but silence, faint light and each other, the two boys could breathe easier. Their concerns could be pushed to the back of their heads. Nicolas’s mental bat could take a rest, knowing that with a book in his hands and Wallace slightly smiling across from him at the book in his own, everything would be fine. Everything would be peaceful for the time being. 

On this day more than the recent ones, it seemed that Nicolas’s mind was especially active and aware of his job to not disrupt or disturb anything. When he got to feeling this kind of mental consciousness, Nicolas knew something was stirring, but for whatever reason, he could not notice what it was. Having spent his whole day in the library, everything he had seen seemed to be in place, especially himself. 

In the moment, he wanted to try and figure it all out before the looming feeling of unrest could make itself known, causing havoc. But he also knew he had been lost in bookshelves for quite a bit. He felt a tug in his legs, urging him back to the table, back to the other boy who he stole quick glimpses at in hopes to see the light in his eyes sparkle as he read. Something that could only be seen in the peaceful softness of the library, ‘their’ library. The sudden warmth of this thought was foreign to Nicolas. He liked it, but didn’t understand what it meant. And he definitely didn’t understand why his next thought turned that warmth into a slight pain:“Not that Master Wallace would notice I’ve even been gone.” He would often tell himself, being very aware that once reading a book, Wallace rarely let his eyes leave its pages. Regardless, he decided he should head back to his spot at the table across from the blue eyed avid reader. 

Walking back through one of the shelved labyrinths of the library, he let himself pick up one of the few books he had already read, feeling the need for something familiar. When he appeared from behind the shelves, once more in front of the table at which Wallace sat, Nicolas witnessed something he did not see very often; Wallace’s head was turned away from his book.

Nicolas noticed that the boy across the table seemed more on edge than he had when he had left a few minutes prior. Wallace’s eyes were wide and glued to the wall on his right in the direction of the outer wall of the house which bore many large windows. Nicolas had just passed by a window himself upon leaving the giant clock, but he did not remember noticing anything out of the ordinary to cause such a change in Wallace’s normally very put together expression. He wanted to reach out and shake the boy in front of him from his fright-filled staring contest with the window, but as his hand slowly came up, the black haired boy let it fall back down to his side, wondering if Wallace would mind if he reached out to him first. If he had touched something precious that belonged to the house, what would happen? Nicolas would think to himself, letting his mental bat flap around in a frenzy.

For the time being, Nicolas decided he would just watch Wallace from afar, keeping track of his expression and reactions in case something happened that actually did require Nicolas to step in as the protective guard that he was. The short and scrappily dressed black haired boy sat back into his seat, which had gotten quite chilled from the departure of his body heat some time before. He placed the book on the table in front of him, but did not even bother to open it. Reading was not something he could focus on at the moment. Instead of the fictitious worlds which often occupied his head day in and day out within the library, the only world that crossed his mind was the one he was already in, the one in which Wallace sat in front of him, the one in which his body seemed to be urging him to get to the bottom of whatever was causing that pained look to creep up onto the other boy’s face. 

For the next few minutes, the boys remained unmoved. Wallace continued to stare out the window as if he were trying to memorize every single blade of grass outside or contemplating the exact shade of blackened gray the creeping clouds were, and Nicolas continued to watch every little movement the other made. As ticks from the clock just around the corner sounded one after another, Nicolas saw something gaining more of a hold of Wallace. His eyes were still glued to the window across the way, and they were still wide like before, but now the rest of his body seemed to be frozen. If Nicolas could have guessed it seemed almost as if some poison had paralysized the blonde boy entirely. The only slight movement was the quickened rising of Wallace’s chest.

At the beginning, Nicolas felt consoled by the sight of his master breathing, but with the space between his breaths shortening, Nicolas soon realized he should not feel calmed by that sight at all. Something had to be wrong. But just what was it? Was it something he could fix? Something he could beat for Wallace, something he could hide Wallace from? His mind demanded an answer for how he could help. And he was just about to finally speak up, to finally reach out, when Wallace gave him another surprise.

The sharply dressed, Wallace, who only ever acted as if he were in a shakespearean play, moving slowly and elegantly across a stage with thousands of viewers and critics watching, being careful not to take a step out of place in fear of repercussions that could come in the form of booming voices and painful clashes of skin against skin, shot up from his chair in a panic. His eyes had finally left the window only to switch frantically over to the door on the opposite wall. Wallace’s movements from there on out were all done in an immense rush, moving at a speed Nicolas had never seen the other boy even attempt before, not even when they had stolen a few moments of enjoyment in a game of tag out in the yard. 

As the boy clad in pin striped dress pants and dark, perfectly polished dress shoes raced across the wooden floor of the library, he left the normally quiet and peaceful room in a boisterous wake. His chair had stumbled on to its side after he had pushed himself out of it, causing the suit jacket he had placed onto its back and not picked up upon his departure to skid across the floor. He had not even bothered to close the book he was reading. It still laid, abruptly abandoned, opened to the last word that Wallace had seen before the dark clouds that had long been brewing outside had stolen his attention. Wallace’s movements continued to speed up as he threw the door to the hallway open and almost flung himself out into the new space. 

Finding himself alone in the library after watching the other boy rush himself throughout the room, Nicolas was left with only more concerned confusion than he had minutes before. 

His confusion did not keep him from reacting, however. As Wallace’s guard and a trained mercenary, Nicolas was used to staying by the young master’s side at all times in addition to having quick reflexes in times of overwhelming tension or confusing whirlwinds. Therefore, not seconds after Wallace stormed his way out of the library, Nicolas was quick on his heels to follow. 

As the smaller ragged looking jet black haired boy jumped through the doorframe of the book-shelved safe haven, he could barely catch the back tip of Wallace’s shoe as the blonde made a sharp turn down a hallway. Without thinking, Nicolas raced after him, rushing with only one thought in mind. “I must reach him. I must . . .”

Turning the corner himself, he realized what he should have long before now: where Wallace was heading. With every step, Nicolas became more sure; Wallace was racing against time and the light pounding of rain that had begun not long after the blonde boy started off on his sprint. He was racing to the only other place in the house where he could feel safe, his room.

Just as he threw the library door open moments before, Wallace took a firm yet rushed grip on the doorknob to his bedroom and swung it open without a second to rest. And it didn’t even take him an additional breath to slam it right behind him just as quickly as it had been opened.

The loud bang of the door shutting behind him was the last thud Wallace heard before he found himself surrounded by the silence of his room. He hadn’t even bothered to flick on the lights before continuing his seemingly never ending sprint into his bed. As his sporadic frenzy continued, he jumped on to his bed and shoved himself under the covers, not forgetting to speedily tuck the covers all around his curled up body.

If the bedroom was dark before, it seemed even darker now to Wallace who tried to soothe himself in a tight bundle of blankets. His fists were wrapped tightly in the sheets. If he could see them, his knuckles would probably have turned white from all the strength that he was putting into his grasp on the cloth all around him. And even if he could see in the heavy darkness of both the unlit room and the thick, insulated blankets, his closed eyelids would have kept him from seeing it all. His eyes had long since been squeezed shut, closing out any last sight that could send him into any further unrest.

If he were to be honest with himself, he found the darkness and the silence oddly calming. Others might have found it oddly deafening and even more unsettling, but for Wallace, separating himself from everything: people, the house, and even sight and sound, was often the only thing that soothed his nerves. The massive estate which he always felt oddly trapped in despite always having enough space at least physically to act how he pleased was always quite bright and rowdy, creating the illusion of happiness, security, and freedom. Wallace had to laugh because he never felt that way about his life in the mansion. Even in the most serene and elegant of hallways, whispers of the maid staff could be heard, turning rumors into wildfire, hinting at the truth of the grandiose Arcangelo house that the so called perceived happiness, security, and freedom were never actually offered to the little blonde boy who had lived there his whole life. The little bastard child of the head of the estate, the little Wallace Arcangelo was only ever met with loud booming demands and criticism, painful slaps and lasting bruises. The house was never a place to call his own. It was never his home. The only places which could be near the idea of a warm and secure home was his room, the library, and if he really wanted to be honest with himself, wherever he could be with Nicolas.

His daily events of locking himself in the library all day and then locking himself in his room at night was all he could do to distance himself from the painful and firey whispers that hung and wafted throughout the whole house, filling up every hallway and room with rumor-like smoke, almost choking the young boy. He curled himself up into a tighter ball, his knees almost digging into his skin under his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible, hoping to hide from what he knew grew closer and closer every second.

And just then as if the outside world was listening intently to all his fears as they pooled within his head, a quick and bold bolt of lightning lit the entire darkened and stormy sky. It caught the attention of Nicolas who had stood facing the very door that Wallace had slammed shut minutes before. He had been contemplating what to do next, yearning to throw open the door just as Wallace had before him and to ask the other boy what it was that was upsetting him, what it was that Nicolas could do to protect him. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn the knob. He had reached his hand out and held it tightly multiple times since he had seen Wallace disappear behind it, but in all the passing seconds, he couldn’t bring himself to open it. He didn’t want to over step. It wasn’t his house. It wasn’t his place. How could he . . .

And that’s when the lightning had struck. His eyes which had been so focused on the door quickly shifted to look out the window that stood at the end of the hallway he had just trekked down. A bright yellow-white root system of electricity had covered the sky, striking the ground somewhere off in the distance. Its sudden appearance and departure only caused the outside world to look so immensely dark, stealing away any of the light it brought with it. The dark storm clouds filled the whole sky, casting every tree, road, and building into an immense shadow as rain pelted everything the darkness touched. It was an unnerving sight that sent a shiver down Nicolas’s spine.

The next attention stealing element was a loud clap of thunder which echoed endlessly in Wallace’s ears, reminding him of haunting memories of his father who had downed a whole bottle of wine, slurring his words that would only get louder with each blow he landed across Wallace’s face and body. In those moments Wallace could only curl up, trying to protect himself while pleading for the assault to end, knowing that no matter what he did to shield himself or beg for a cease fire of the hits, it wouldn’t come. In those moments he was powerless, and the memories burned holes through his being with every loud crash of anything. Thunder, however, had to by far be the worst. It reminded him too much of the sound of fists or even broken bottles against his skull. He hated it. The sound, the feeling, it tormented him, but all he could do even now was to hold himself close, protecting himself and begging for an end to the assault that was so clearly out of his hands.

“When will it end?” Wallace faintly whispered through breathy and shaky gasps as well as tears that welled up in his eyes and slowly streamed down his cheeks. “When will it all end?”

As the thunder which rang in Wallace’s ears shook the entire estate, Nicolas was filled with new urgency to get to Wallace’s side. He couldn’t lie to himself and say that he understood his master’s actions or how it all related to the storm roaring beyond the mansion walls, but there was just an enormous wave of desire that washed over him to be there for the other boy whose smiles always seemed so sweet. It was like in the library earlier when his feet urged him to return to Wallace’s side except now it was only more prominent. He was urging himself to move forward.

Throwing his sense of guilt that told him he shouldn’t enter a room that wasn’t his without being asked for out the window to be taken away by the storm, Nicolas finally took hold of the doorknob and turned it open. Every bone in his body told him to rush to the other boy’s side, but there was a faint voice in his head which pushed through that blaring urge, telling him to approach with caution. As someone who was more simple minded, Nicolas often folded under temptation, but for this moment, Nicolas followed the voice that told him to be calm.

He lightly closed the door behind him, hoping that it didn’t make a loud noise. He wouldn’t be able to hear it even if it did, but he knew if he did anything it had to be filled with ease and caution. He would get nowhere if his actions mirrored the chaos of the storm outside.

Nicolas took a step closer toward the faint outline of a bed. “Master Wallace?” He asked in his best attempt at a soft and comforting voice, hoping his tonal raspiness was somewhere close to being filled with concern. 

He continued his slow approach until he stood just before the side of the bed. He had been inside the room before, but never on his own volition. Being there now, he felt like he was invading Wallace’s privacy. “This is wrong” the mental bat which had been drowned out during this fiasco sneered in his head. “Who are you to be here? Who are you to be by his side?” The guilt he had so recently disregarded was growing once more in his stomach. “How could someone like you even protect him? How dare you try to reach out to this precious thin-” Nicolas tried his best to push it down. He tried to let his desire to help Wallace over power it.

He soon felt his body act without him as he guilt ate away at his conscience. Now kneeling before Wallace’s bed, his eyes began to make out a shape under the covers. Suspecting it was Wallace, Nicolas slowly reached out a hand. He had come this far, if he were to give up, to give in to his guilt of acting out of place, there would be no purpose in taking the risk in the first place.

He tapped lightly on the edge of the bed to alert Wallace that he was there before reaching any farther. “Wallace?” He once again tried to whisper, hoping he wasn’t too loud.

“Sorry for entering.” He began, first struggling to put together sentences as clearly and properly as he could, and then noticing how his heart began to pick up pace. He began to wonder if it was because he was beginning to fear the repercussion of his actions. Or maybe it was caused by something else. Regardless, he continued his attempt to reach out to the other boy, sliding his hand closer to the blanketed mass. “I just wanted to help. If you’re okay, I can leav-”

A hand had popped out of the blanket covered mound and grabbed Nicolas’s outstretched arm. Its hold on Nicolas’s wrist was tight yet shaky. It exuded a strong sense of desperation, almost shouting for help through its grip that even the ever silent ears of Nicolas could pick up. The black haired boy’s heart tightened. He brought his other hand up to cover the shaking hand of Wallace, hoping that such a movement would offer peace of mind. The blanket covered boy was so in search of solace that as soon as the second hand touched the top of his, he latched on to it, quickly letting go of Nicolas’s wrist in favor of his hand. Wallace who was still under the covers wasted no time to squeeze the new hand in his grasp, putting so much strength into it that Nicolas thought the boy in front of him might rip it off his arm.

For a second, Nicolas stared in silence as Wallace held on to him so desperately. Through the tight grip on his hand, Nicolas was now clearly aware of the pain Wallace was experiencing. His hand began to ache under the pressure of the other boy’s grasp, but Nicolas dared not recoil. Instead he allowed himself to wrap his hand around Wallace’s, applying a pressure of his own back onto it, but instead of a pressure wrapped in desperation, Nicolas tried to convey soft and warm comfort, lightly wrapping his fingers onto the back of the feverishly shaking hand of the blonde boy. He gave the hand a light squeeze as if to say “I’m here”.

Communication was tough for the two boys in a moment like this. Neither could see for the life of them as the storm thundered on just out the window. Nicolas could struggle to talk, but he wouldn’t ever be able to hear or know if Wallace responded. Not that Wallace could easily talk either in a time like this. All his words were caught in his throat as he tried to hold himself from crying out like a newborn baby. The two were thus left in a palpable silence. One that was rather dreary yes, being surrounded by complete darkness except for moments of lightning and thunder, but also one that offered a sense of vulnerability, connection, and openness. Even without words, the two boys understood each other and shared their emotions in this moment. Wallace’s hand called out, crying “I need you” to which Nicolas’s responded “No worries, you have me”.

They stayed like that, Wallace completely covered head to toe except for one arm which snaked out to grab a hold of Nicolas, and Nicolas kneeling before the bed, holding on to Wallace as if in fear that if he let go, he’d lose the other boy forever. They stayed like that, in complete silence, holding each other as the storm continued its raid on the land, throwing down bullets of rain onto the ground, slashing bolts of lightning through the sky, and yelling down booms of thunder into the atmosphere.

Time was no longer kept in mind. The ticks of the grandfather clock had long since been left behind and drowned out. For however long it had been, it was just Wallace and Nicolas, alone, yet together. It was a slightly painful recognition of being left by the world, but it also had a tinge of warmth knowing that comfort would never be too far with the other person within an arm’s reach.

As the storm began to die down, Wallace felt Nicolas’s comforting hold on his hand loosen. With the thudding of the storm having almost entirely died down, Wallace poked his head slightly out from his covers. In the black darkness of his room, he could vaguely make out the shape of the other boy. His uncontrollable hair flopped onto the edge of the bed as the owner’s head rested on top of his free arm, hinting at how the boy might have drifted off to sleep.

Wallace blinked at the sight. Having the other boy so close, in his room, on his bed, holding his hand, it had taken him until now to realize how it all made him feel. He had been so overwhelmed by the storm and his memories of the past that the present situation of Nicolas being with him hadn’t even registered in his mind, but now with the outside world quieting down and the haunting memories dissipating once more, Wallace was left to face a sleeping Nicolas with a more clear head and slowly growing emotions.

Feeling an odd sense of security noticing that Nicolas was asleep, Wallace scooched himself closer to the sleeping boy. He lifted his hand which held on to Nicolas’s, and slowly brought the back of the other boy’s hand to his face, pressing it lightly to his cheek. The skin felt a little rough and yet it calmed Wallace immensely and not just because of its cool touch against Wallace’s growingly warm and rosy cheeks. 

Nicolas had been there. He had followed him without a word of explanation or even an idea what was going on. He followed him. The other boy could have easily stayed in the library reading his book, leaving Wallace to lose himself in his horrors and sadness all by himself, but he hadn’t. He had come, and come without Wallace even asking him to. The blonde boy felt a tug at his heart and bit his lip to hold back a couple of tears which wanted to seep out in deeply moved appreciation. 

The young master had been alone for so long. He had come across a father who despised him, a mother and brother who pretended he didn’t exist, and servants who gossiped about his every move. He had never felt what it was like to have someone, to have anything, and yet in that moment, in his own hand he held on to Nicolas, and Nicolas held on to him. 

He smiled, and laughed to himself, wondering how it ever happened that the most oddball of all the people he ever met would be the only person to ever show him this type of kindness, this type of care and sincerity. This goofy preteen who could barely read or talk, this raggedy haired boy who struggled to understand social cues or emotions, this person was the one who held onto him in his most trying moments. He was the only person who ever tried to reach out to him. Him. Nicolas. “Who would have guessed it?” Wallace asked himself, shaking his head.

He pressed Nicolas’s hand more onto his cheek. Feeling his heartbeat rise once more, faintly mirroring the thundering of the storm that had just passed outside but this time it was resonating in his chest and all throughout his body. He couldn’t help but smile and whisper into Nicolas’s wrist that was so close to his lips, “Thank you, Nicolas . . . for being here . . . when no one else would”.

The thundering in his heart continued to grow as he let himself plant a light kiss on the skin he had just openly shared his thoughts with.

He let out a slow breath, trying to release some of the tension that had pooled inside of him.”It hurts,” He thought as the pounding continued. “It hurts.” Wallace repeated aloud, but keeping to himself what the ‘it’ meant. The blonde moved once more. This time allowing his other hand to reach out towards Nicolas’s hair, running his fingers through its jet black strands which were barely even visible in darkness of the night.

He laid himself back down, but now much closer to Nicolas’s slouched position against the edge of the bed. The closeness was what he wanted. He would allow himself to be this close for now. It would be alright for just this moment because the overwhelming emotions hurt as they rushed through every inch of his body, and he needed Nicolas there to help despite being the cause of the emotions himself. Unlike all the other pain that Wallace had experienced in his life, the screams, the fists, the hatred, he was willing to carry this pain, to carry this burden of vulnerable emotions. Wallace was willing to continue to carry the weight of his feelings for Nicolas if it meant they could stay like this, together, relying on each other, protecting each other, needing each other. Wallace needed this type of relationship. He needed this type of care. He needed this type of emotion, this feeling not too far off from love. He needed Nicolas. 

And even if he never dared to say it aloud, no matter if Nicolas were asleep or if Nicolas couldn’t even hear the words for himself through his deaf ears, Wallace knew what it all meant and he would keep it to himself. It would be safer that way, he would later convince himself, but for now the burden of compassion, the pain of the storm like thundering of his heart as he held Nicolas’s hand and felt the boy’s sleep filled breath on his arm, he would let it shine and revel in its light amid the vast darkness. It was gentle. It was warm. It was nice.


End file.
